


Five Times Jason Fell Asleep on Reyna

by namedanonymous



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:59:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namedanonymous/pseuds/namedanonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And one time she fell asleep on him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Jason Fell Asleep on Reyna

**I.**

“If we take the route along the outer harbor—“

Reyna’s hunched over the small map –a cheap looking thing they snagged from a convenience store a couple miles back before tramping into the woods to find a decently sheltered place to hole up for the night (and hopefully not freeze to death). Her words are more puffs of ice crystals in the chilly night air than actual sounds, quiet syllables hissed through her teeth as she examines the lines of the map beneath the light of their flashlight that trembles ever-so-slightly in her bare fingers.

She grits her teeth to stop their chattering and hunches a bit lower over the paper even as her back cramps and pangs in protest. The movement doesn’t do much to make her warmer and doesn’t change the fact she wasn’t made for a mid-west winter. She was grown in the sweltering heat of San Juan and raised on the hot sand beaches of C.C.’s Spa and Resort, the cold has  _never_  been her forte. Neither is it Jason’s judging from the tremors that tremble up and down her left side, his arms and torso squashed up against hers as they huddle in a small cluster of trees. It’s poor as far as shelter goes, but the prospect of trudging any farther through the snow to look for something better hadn’t appealed to either demigod.

They’re young and rash, but they aren’t stupid or  _childish_  enough to risk dying of frostbite or freezing to death over some mutual dislike of each other, so the setting sun finds them huddled together as close as they can –the two dollar thermal blanket wrapped about their legs and crinkling under their butts to create a flimsy shield against the cold. Reyna’s teeth still chatter a bit despite the tension in her jaw as she finishes her thought.

“The outer harbor would take longer, but we don’t have enough money for the ferry and we could get  _wet_  in this rough weather. And in case you didn’t notice, we don’t have any dry or  _warm_ clothing left.”

She waits, but the only response is some twig cracking out in the forest and their own breathing, loud and harsh in a cold, silent forest. Lips twitch down into an annoyed frown at her partner’s lack of response as she continues to squint down at the map, though the squiggly red lines have all but been burned into the backs of her eyelids.

“ _Jaso—“_

She beings to hiss, head jerking to the side along with the flashlight beam, words perched on her tongue to give a quick reprimandation, before they fade out into nothing more than ice crystals. Because she should have noticed the heavy weight on her shoulder and the long even breaths that break the chilling quiet in long even intervals; should have taken note of his lack of input when they’ve seemingly agreed over shockingly little this entire quest. Reyna blames the cold for her lack of observation of all these things (though she knows that’s no true excuse) and carefully folds up the map. There’s no point in disturbing the boy now, and sleep is arguably a better way to spend time then endlessly planning out something that probably  _won’t_  work.

And perhaps he looks peaceful like this, caught in the golden light of her flashlight –a cliché thought, but a true one nonetheless. Looking at the blond now, Reyna thinks she understands what her sister meant about sleep shedding years off people by erasing the situation. Because looking at her questmate now, Reyna can almost pretend they’re  _normal_  –just a couple of kids out camping in the forest. He appears younger than his twelve years, more vulnerable too, not like he’s trying to be a fearless leader.

At some point the hard glint in her eyes softens as she looks at the boy –he’s not the only one that changes when no one’s looking. She likes Jason Grace better when he’s asleep, she decides. Less bossy, less snappish, less argumentative. Overall better.

She heaves a small sigh and plunges them into darkness, flicking the flashlight off and tucking the map and it into her backpack. Onyx eyes peer out into the dim forest, the palest bits of moonbeams forcing their way down to reflect on snow and frost. It’s deceptively peaceful, and soon her breaths sync with Jason’s, though she forces her eyes to remain open. Another sigh and glance at Jason –all soft features in the silver moonlight—before Reyna resigns herself to first watch. 

**II.**

Reyna’s never been to one of these secret gatherings, mostly because she isn’t in the Fifth Cohort, and most of those in the group that attend  _are_ –save for a few friends that tag along as unofficial ‘plus ones,’ though she learns quickly that those in the Fifth Cohort tend not to have many friends outside of it. Her and Jason seem to be an exception of sorts. Still, she isn’t sure how Jason managed to convince her to sneak out and join the little group, but the sun sets, curfew passes and she finds herself slinking along from shadow to shadow before she’s slipping in through the door.

She almost trips on a blanket two steps in, but rights herself by grabbing someone’s shoulder (Jason, as it would turn out to be) and looks around. What she finds is unexpected –chips and dvds and  _real_ soda and other assorted and very,  _very_  banned things. Cue the raise of a brow and a fixed gaze on the blond she  _thought_  was a stickler for rules.

(Note to self: never presume to know anything about Jason Grace).

But even though she usually is a strict enforcer of the rules (bad habit drilled into her by a utilitarian father and the sorceress Circe), Reyna finds herself taking a seat next to Jason with a tentative sort of smile. Maybe it’s because of the quest, maybe it’s because this is the first time she’s been invited to anything by a peer, maybe it’s because she remembers cold nights in Wyoming and still can’t shake that chill from her bones (never mind that said nights were months ago). But it’s warm in the room, and not just from the heaters and sheer amount of blankets that sit in piles. Nor is it from the mug of hot cocoa she finds herself cupping between her palms. There’s a different sort of warmth to be found here, the kind between people and friends that’s fueled by smiles and laughter.

The names of the people there with them buzz through her mind, though the only one that seems to stick is  _Jason._ The night is a sort of a blur of golden light and fizzing happiness that has even her stoic features lighting up with elated smiles as hot cocoa is swapped for Coca-Cola and fingers pluck out red jellybeans.

A blink and the clock hands have somehow ticked past one, though  _Hercules_  (they thought it would be humorous) still plays on the portable DVD player aloft on its throne of empty snack boxes and pillows. The small crowd lies in small clumps of two or three surrounded by nests of blankets. There’s warmth at her side, and somehow her and Jason have ended up pressed together like that cold night on their first quest, but yet again, she finds no heart to shift or move to head to be pillowed by blankets instead of her shoulder.

 _In. Out. In. Out._ It’s far too easy to slip into the easy rhythm of sleep in that warm room filled with the warm of friendship and a feeling of  _belonging,_ and for once, Reyna doesn’t fight the darkness that comes to tug her down into dreams where she thinks she’s  _flying_  and warmth floods her from head to toe.

She wakes to a sort of screech and giggles, followed by the clink of denarii passing hands as she opens her eyes to Jason’s purple shirt only an inch or two from her face.

**III.**

The stack of completed paperwork now overtakes the stack of incomplete paperwork, much to Reyna’s satisfaction.  _Though_ , she thinks albeit bitterly,  _It’s only going to get bigger within the next week._  Yet, in moments such as these, surrounded by words and old leather tomes, the praetor almost welcomes the tedious and boring task of reading and signing and scripting polite responses because it helps to clear her mind and tame her anger at a certain augur that tends to work so fervently against his praetors.

_Flick, skim, flick, skim, sign, sigh…_

Still, it would be nice to have the table clear of all work for once. At least she has a partner and isn’t stuck in the  _principalia_ all by her lonesome.

_Flick, skim, flick, skim, sign, sigh…_

Another paper finished and added to the ‘complete’ stack, and it occurs to her that the room has fallen curiously silent –the  _principalia_ curiously devoid of all grumblings, snorts of amusement, annoying humming, and the overall displeasure of a certain Jason Grace. It doesn’t take her long to come to a conclusion, and to look over at her now slumbering partner –his head cushioned on his arms where a pen dangles loosely from his fingers, threatening to drop to the floor below.

His head lolls from its rest on his forearms to nudge her right elbow a moment later, a cheek turned up to her as if to taunt her and ask what she’s going to do about this completely  _unacceptable_ situation. Blond hair tickles her skin for a second or two before she’s withdrawing her arm –pen and paperwork temporarily forgotten as she judges her best route for revenge.

Maybe she could draw on his face. So very mature and praetor-like, she  _knows._

But as obsidian eyes fix on the boy, she finds herself tempted to join him in the quiet slumber of dreams and push the piles of work aside for a single night, or even just a few minutes. The moment soon passes however, and drooping eyelids blink rapidly for a moment to reorient herself in the waking world.

Maybe she could dump ice water on his head.

But she’s getting tired too, and the longer she sits in the room in her tall-backed chair, the more she just wants the work to be  _done_. So she just raises a hand instead, pausing for a moment, said limb hovering a few inches above the table as she reminisces of days when she thought he looked cute when he slept. And maybe he still does, in a peaceful, non-stressed sort of way, but as much at  _peace_  her co-praetor looks, he’s not getting any  _tangible_  work down in his dreams, and, gods forbid, she is  _not_  doing the rest of this by herself. Lips thin into a merciless line as she bangs her hand down loudly on the table and very close to his ear, her voice a low, threatening growl Lupa would have approved of.

“ _JASON GRACE_ wake up! I am  _not_  finishing these all by myself!”

It’s with amusement that she watches him jolt awake, arms twitching almost comically —-though the mischievous grin quickly turns into a fearsome scowl as his movements push the bowl of jellybeans precariously close to the edge.

**IV.**

They’re all running on unicorn drought, ambrosia squares, and pure determination now. Reyna knows they ought to be more careful, but even the heat pooling in her belly doesn’t stop her from eating two whole squares of the godly food, fingers cramming it into her mouth as she trudges behind an equally weary Jason. It takes the edge off her hunger and makes her legs feel more like sacks of flour rather than them feeling like they’re encased in concrete, but she also knows the crash from the food is going to hit her even harder –it’s going to hit them both harder. Still, her tongue runs over her teeth, a hard swallow chasing the taste of the last bits of chocolate from New Rome.

She tries not to let her relief show when they finally reach the lookout spot. There’re still people she has to look strong and undominatable for as they both mutter soft words to the Centurions stationed there before sending them both on their way back towards camp. Somehow Reyna doesn’t think she’s succeeding in hiding her exhaustion because when she looks at Jason, his own visage –heavily etched with lines of fatigue– reflects what she feels all the way down to her soul.

She wordlessly hands him the bottle of unicorn drought and sits heavily down on one of the stones. Her hair is more a tangled mess than braid crawling down her back. Fingers rub wearily at her eyes and shoulders are tense as she looks over at her partner.

“I’ll take first watch.”

Of course there’s that usual protest of his, though from the tripping of the words that fall from his mouth and the silence that settles not too long after, she knows he’s even more exhausted than she. He does at least sit down beside her at her bidding, both their backs pressed up against rough stone and gazes directed at the same evil mountain. They don’t talk much beyond clipped, muttered observations of bay and Mont Orthrys that rises as a sinister looking island from a sea of mist.

As the sun sinks lower, she finds herself moving a bit closer to her partner –partly for warmth, partly so that she knows she isn’t alone. Because although she would never admit it, abandonment terrifies her.

The familiar press of hair against her neck and ear has her mouth twitching up into a smile, nonetheless, because she knows she’s won this quiet argument over who’ll take first watch. As his breathing evens out, one hand goes out to take back the bottle of drought just in case limp fingers drop the container and let the precious liquid water the earth instead of their muscles. But she doesn’t quite get her hand back, Jason’s fingers curling sleepily about her wrist, a cool touch that’s shockingly devoid of any static. A breath or two passes and Reyna gives the smallest shake of her head before removing the bottle with her other hand and lacing her own digits with his.

 _I’m not the only one with abandonment issues,_ she thinks grimly. But now isn’t the time to contemplate their issues and fears. Now is the time for war and hiding weaknesses just as Lupa taught them.  _There can be no weakness in a pack._

“Rest well, something tells me you’ll need everything you have tomorrow.”

She tells the sleeping boy, before eyes fix back on the sinister mountain where she knows the Titan Krios is working away and fine honing his defenses. Yet, her hand remains connected with his, a sort of link between the lands of dreams and realty. And simply a link between  _them_  —because there is no weakness in having a  _team_.

**V.**

Reyna doesn’t have a cabin on the  _Argo II_. Jason offered his and Annabeth hers (the rest of the crew stumbling over each other like lemmings to offer her a bed after that), but one look into the neatly organized cabins and she realized she didn’t feel like intruding –the picnic was awkward enough without her encroaching any further on their ship. Part of her wondered if this is what Percy felt like when he opened Jason’s house, before she quietly closed the door to Annabet’s chambers and climbed back up to the deck where a slowly sinking sun made shadows lengthen as it slunk closer to the horizon.

She should sleep –Reyna knows this, knows the power nap an hour ago isn’t nearly strong enough to recharge her after the long journey across the Atlantic nor enough to give her strength to embark on a return trip so soon. But time has always been her enemy as it is to all demigods, constantly slipping through fingers and falling short. She’ll just have to dig deeper into herself to find more strength and will to continue. Anyhow, she can’t sleep as her nerves buzz inside her like they’ve been electrocuted, causing her pulse to jump and senses to sharpen. It isn’t unlike the feeling before a sparring session or set of Deathball —only she knows the quest before her is no game of deathball; the stakes are so much higher than that.

She senses him before she sees him, a sort of tug that pulls her to the stern of the ship where her once best friend sits and watches the sun sink lower. No words come as she walks quietly up alongside him and wordlessly joins him –back against cool metal rails, onyx eyes fixed on a shadow as it grows with every passing heartbeat.

She’ll have to leave soon, when the shadows are at their thickest, and perhaps she should say something, anything. But Reyna can’t help a twinge of bitterness that runs through her, because she feels she made her effort, and if her friend had cared at all, he would have said something. There’s been chances for them to talk, in New Rome and even now as they sit side by side, but none of them have been taken.

But maybe he doesn’t need to —in the days back at Camp Jupiter they didn’t always need to utter sounds, communication was in the darting of eyes and flick of a finger. And now…now she sits with her knees pulled in, eyes refusing to look at his as the air between them smells like a storm. She sits in stony silence and doesn’t take the opportunity presented to her, so maybe she’s to blame as well. Reyna doesn’t know how long they spend like that in tense silence, or when the scent of ozone disappears and their fingers bump the tiniest bit, though neither feel brave enough to link fingers like they had so many times before —a symbol of their team, of their strength, and of the machine they were when side by side.

But that’s in the past, their team left in the dust for better pairings like him and Piper or Percy. And Reyna isn’t bitter. Not really, just sad and nostalgic, though this is no time to be wrapped in such personal thoughts. Maybe she just wishes he would say something, anything to signal that something of what they were isn’t completely gone. Because they had too much for it to be nothing now.

The shadow she’s been watching finally touches the tip of her toes and Reyna does know that this is where she makes her leave. This is when she’ll slip into limbo with her ragtag team of three –though not nearly as efficient as _their_ team, nothing will ever be—and this is where she’ll leave without a goodbye, just as he had left without a goodbye  _–twice_.

(Granted, neither situation had been under his Jason’s control.)

But still, some force has her head turning to the side. Onyx eyes fix on the figure beside her, blond head cushioned against the rail of the  _Argo II_ and it’s with a pang of nostalgia that she remembers days where she was his pillow and sleep was light and too easily broken. It speaks testimonies to their situation, this mere fact that they sleep deep and unbroken now despite the danger that hovers close around them.

“Jason.”

It’s not a call for him to wake up, just a name that sits simply on her tongue –a test to see if the small utterance will break his dreams. It doesn’t, and though arms shift a little, eyes doesn’t open to reveal piercing blue. Reyna sighs and stares shamelessly a moment longer before lips part to let her whisper escape. Let him have  _this_  as a goodbye –a promise she  _will_  keep.

“I’ll get the Athena Parthenos to Camp Halfblood, and keep Nico and Coach Hedge safe no matter what, no matter what it means for me.”

It’s only now that she can say this, only now that she can make this  _oath_. Because should she attempt to give it while the demigod is awake, he would surely stop her from saying the last line. If she knows anything about Jason Grace, it is his loyalty to his friends, not unlike Percy’s unwavering friendship, and even though he all be ignored her upon landing in Camp Jupiter, and has yet to do anything that suggests their friendship isn’t broken, she feels in her heart he would not want her to pledge this; would not want her to bind herself to a sacrifice. And maybe that’s why she has to do it, so that one of their promises made to the other still stands true and fulfilled, and so that maybe he and other demigods may live out their lives, long and peaceful. Jason may not understand anymore, but Reyna still does, and it is this knowledge that had her not hesitating to finish off the oath in a bit louder tone –defiant and strong.

_“ I swear it on the River Styx.”_

**I.**

There is that feeling, that feeling of  _we did it, we really did_  as she stands side by side with the Athena Parthenos, her cloak swirling out behind her with Athena’s blessing,  _gladius_  held aloft as she sits upon Guido’s back. Her lips spill peace, her hands gesture to promise, and the Statue produces its own beacon of light and warmth that seems to sing of  _home, home, home_. It feels  _right_ , like the final puzzle piece settling in and Reyna feels a smile tugging at her lips.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t see it.

 _Because_  everything feels so right, and perhaps they  _could_  fight this war and  _win_  with a united front of Greek and Romans. Because she’d been lulled too soon and her reflexes weren’t sharp enough to break the missal on the golden threads of Aegis. Because she’d been looking to the Greeks for their approval and not to her own Legion. Because she made a mistake she pledged to never do again after her first day spent arguing at the Senate House –Reyna underestimated Octavian.

The arrow catches her in the chest, the tip slipping between chinks of armor and between her ribs where pain blossoms like unwanted flowers. Funny as far as she’s come, after defeating Orion and his deadly arrows, after surviving the Mare Nostrum and the Atlantic alone, and she’s taken down by an ordinary arrow shot by one of her own.

(Octavian was never one of her own.)

One hand goes down to grip Guido’s mane for support, eyes still glittering dangerously bright as she draws in another painful breath to yell her last words, determination and steel threading through the syllables, words infused with courage and strength that she imparts on Greeks and Romans alike as she gives her final plea.

_An oath to keep with a final breath…_

“ _ROMANS!_  I do this for the good of the legion, for the good of  _Rome._  We  _must_ stand together with our Greek brethren!”  _Please, please. They must stand united._

She doesn’t get to see the result of her last order, her last  _plea_  to her Legion, to the people who had always made her feel she was at home, because her vision goes  _black, black, black,_  hands slipping from their grip on Guido’s mane, and her tumbling into the shadow of the Athena Parthenos to rest beside a pine tree –Thalia’s pine tree where she made her last stand.

She wakes to the sound of her name singing with a familiar cadence in comforting timber, though the tone is more a pleading whisper that turns into desperate growls edged in pain that draw her from an endless darkness and force her eyes open to stare into a brilliant blue that isn’t the sky but so familiar all the same. There’s nectar at her lips and warm hands at her shoulders and chin, but sometimes there’s things that are too little too late, cut short by the time allotted them. And as she looks up into Jason’s eyes and sees the pain embedded in cerulean hues, she knows that this is what they’re meant to be; meant to be maybes, what could have been, what never will be because there never was time. Never time for apologies or to work this out, to tell each other  _‘stay safe.’_ Just mere shadows of a team that could have been Rome’s greatest.

“I did it. I  _promised_.” Lips quirk up into a weak smile as a trembling hand goes to Jason’s cheek, words tumbling from her mouth, cancelling out his pleas to remain silent, that help was on the way, to just  _hold on._  “It is as it was meant to be.  _Final breath.”_ She doesn’t take pleasure in the realization that dawns in blue orbs, the betrayal and regret and  _blame_  –she has never taken pleasure from the pain of others, so she tries her best to wipe it away. One last good deed in her ledger.

“You’ve grown up, Jason. You’ve grown into yourself.” And as soon as she speaks the words, Reyna knows that they’ve struck a chord of truth within her –a line she’s been searching for since that different Jason Grace stepped off the gangway in a purple shirt that didn’t seem to fit quite right.

“Look after them –after our city and your home,  _both_ of your homes. P-promise me that.” She can hardly breathe anymore, some liquid filling her lungs and dying her lips the  _red, red, red_ of war and suffering. So much to say and no time. There  _never was_  time for her, for she was never given enough of it. “Your sister made her last stand all those years ago, I think. And here I made mine as well—“

“NO. No, Rey, don’t you dare di- fall asleep on me. Stay with me, just a little longer. Just a little—“ She can hear the cracks in his voice, the plea there and for some reason her mind traces back to their first quest together, as she had lain wounded, though not nearly as gravely as she does not. She remembers the promises then, silly ones made by children who had grown up too fast and didn’t want to lose anyone else. But those promises mean little now. They  _pale_  in comparison to her oath.

And despite the pain written in Jason’s eyes, she knows she does not regret her choices, because they are Romans. And Romans make their sacrifices, make their own destinies and meet death on their own terms.  _And these_ , she decides,  _are good terms to meet it on_. So she shakes her head and gives a rueful smile, albeit sad, her hand dropping back to her chest where his fingers come to clasp her limp ones over her struggling heart. “You always…always fell asleep on me.” It’s only fitting that she goes with her head in his lap and a battlefield around her. It is as it should be.

 _Goodbye._ Reyna doesn’t know if the utterance is in her head or if it coasts out on dying breaths. Judging by the intensity in blue eyes and wetness on her face, she thinks it’s the latter.

She’d always accepted her own death, as long as she died knowing she had done the right things. Heck, she should have died almost twenty times over just from the events of the post year. It’s a miracle she even reached sixteen. And now that it’s here to take her, it’s far too easy to let exhaustion grip her limbs and crawl through her veins to dull her pain with nothingness. Eyelids drift closed over onyx eyes, blocking out brilliant blue brimming with sadness and regret and things she can’t even read anymore. Blocking out everything but black like night and the color of mourning as her last breath escapes between wavering lips.

_An oath to keep with a final breath._

It was done.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and opinions much appreciated! -Zia


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